A Man of Few Words
by cornev
Summary: Mark Campbell didn't talk much, so how do we really know what he thought of the Winchesters? Maybe he wasn't all he appeared to be. Here's Sam's time with the Campbells and Dean's introduction to them as told from Mark's POV - with a twist. S6 spoilers.
1. Chapter 1: The Handlers

_**This just sort of came to me while re-watching the premier today and I had to write it down. It wasn't planned but I have a few ideas for it - hopefully people will be interested in my take on the Campbells and Sam working together (Dean will come into it, too). I will admit, I haven't really liked the Campbells so far and decided to change my own mind on them by putting a bit of a spin on Mark's situation.**_

**CHAPTER 1**

Mark Campbell stepped through the dirty glass door of the diner, immediately taking note of the two other exits as well as its few, lonely patrons. Two men, presumably truckers if their trucker caps and the two rigs parked outside were any indication, sat at the counter and didn't bother to turn around as he entered. The tired-looking waitress gave him a half-hearted smile, the old man in the booth on the left spared him a quick disinterested glance, and the young guy wearing cook's whites slid off his stool with a sigh and strolled reluctantly back to the kitchen, clearly figuring his services would soon be needed if the newcomer was to order food.

The hunter took the booth at the back, sliding into the bench seat against the wall where he could keep his eye on the rest of the room. The waitress finished wiping the counter with a stained, dirty cloth before picking up a small notepad and heading over in his direction, swatting at a fly buzzing past her head as she approached.

This place was a dump, he thought. Even by his low standards. He drummed his fingers nervously on the table, scanning the parking lot again in hopes of seeing Brand, the hunter he was supposed to be meeting here. He gave the waitress a small nod of greeting and ordered a cheeseburger with fries before turning his attention back outside, running his hand through his short, blond hair in apprehension.

He was halfway through his meal and growing agitated before he saw a van pull up and the familiar figure of an older man exited the driver's side. Brand. But when he saw two other men, men he didn't know, step out of the van also and accompany his old friend towards the diner, he shifted uneasily in his seat, repositioning the knife in the sheath hidden at the small of his back. He hadn't expected strangers. He didn't particularly like strangers, especially other hunters. Already on edge by Brand's mysterious phone request that they meet in person in this out-of-the-way grease pit, Mark gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath as they headed over.

"Mark," Brand greeted solemnly with a nod to the much younger hunter. "This is Harnell and Bodger." He gestured to the two other men, both in their fifties, and slid into the booth across from Mark.

"What's going on, Brand?" Mark demanded with a frown, scooting over as Bodger seated himself next to him and Harnell planted himself next Brand. _Damnit, he was boxed in._

"We need your help," Bodger blurted. He sounded friendly enough.

Mark glowered at the man next to him and never said a word before turning his gaze back to Brand, an eyebrow raised in question.

Brand shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, Mark," he said. "I know you don't know these guys but they knew your father."

"Yeah, Gary was a good man," Harnell offered. "Hell of a hunter."

Mark didn't acknowledge the compliment but simply kept his eyes trained on Brand.

His old friend sighed. "Mark, you hear about the Winchester kid's return from the pit?" he asked.

"Which one?" was Mark's sarcastic reply.

"The younger one. Sam."

Mark nodded. Every hunter in the country had heard about that, even the loners like him. Word had traveled even faster than when the older brother had been pulled out, _**that**_ jailbreak supposedly having been executed by angels. Mark wasn't entirely convinced of that part.

"Well, turns out, the same day he was pulled out of Hell, his grandfather was pulled out of Heaven."

Mark arched an eyebrow. He hadn't heard that part.

"And now," Brand continued. "Grandpa's apparently running around gathering up hunters to join him. They've setup a compound, kept under total lockdown. Nobody outside his tightlipped little club gets in or out and they're a damn shady bunch."

He looked at Mark expectantly. Mark just shrugged. "And?"

"And we need to know what's going on in there," Brand supplied. "There's strange stuff been going on in the Supernatural world recently and I got a nasty feeling they know something about it only they're not sharing. Samuel's their leader and he won't let in anyone that he doesn't approve of. Seems to be keeping it in the family but somethin' ain't right. He's teamed up with his newly-resurrected grandson Sam Winchester and they've got quite the racket going on. Rumor has it they're capturing creatures. Not killing them, _**capturing**_ them."

"Yeah," Bodger interjected. "It's common knowledge the rules 'bout monsters have gone to pot since the Winchesters dodged the supposed Apocalypse. Vamps in daylight, Wendigos in cities. Weres at half-moon. But what the hell are they keeping them alive for? Somethin's hokey."

Mark took it all in and although he found it troubling, kept his expression blank. "And?" he said again.

"And we need to know what this guy's up to," Brand replied. He sat back in his chair as the waitress came back over and asked if the newcomers were eating also.

"No, Miss. Just three beers, please," Brand told her politely, keeping quiet until she was out of earshot again, when he quickly turned back to Mark. "There's a lot of us who are suspicious," he said, nodding to the two others at the table. "But we can't get anywhere near Grandpa Samuel coz we're not family and the guy's got trust issues."

"Okay, so what do you need me for?" Mark asked, not following.

"We need someone we can trust on the inside," Brand divulged.

"Thought you had to be family."

"That's the funny part," Brand grinned at him. "Turns out heaven's dropout is Samuel Campbell. Your father's cousin's uncle's cousin."

Mark's head shot up in surprise at the revelation of the first sentence while his mind still tried to wrap itself around the complexity of the second. "The Winchesters are Campbells?"

Brand nodded. "Yeah. John Winchester didn't speak much about his wife but we did some digging and she was Mary Campbell, Samuel's daughter."

"Which makes you his family." Bodger stated the obvious.

Mark stared silently at the three older men as he mulled over the proposition. This closed group thing Samuel had going certainly did have some creepy similarities to a cult and capturing monsters was definitely suspicious, but Mark wasn't sure if he could pull it off. Or if he wanted to.

He had known Brand since he was a baby. The man had been his late father's best friend and was like an uncle to him. Mark trusted him completely but he was pretty much the only person he did trust. The young hunter liked to work alone. Blending in and working with a group of shady hunters wasn't going to be easy.

As if reading his mind, Brand brought the subject up. "Listen, Mark," he said earnestly, leaning forward to put his elbows on the table. "I know you like to keep to yourself and this is a lot to ask, but a lot of hunters are worried about this group. You can just be your usual, silent, broody self in there and it could work in your favour. You'd be a lot less likely to trip yourself up and get caught in a lie." He smirked at the young hunter. "And if they asked around about you," he added with a shrug. "They'd hear that you were antisocial from anyone who's ever met you."

Mark sat back with a sigh, knowing he would never refuse a request from Brand. "Who else knows about this?" he asked.

"Just me, Bodger, and Harnell here," he assured him. "We'll keep it that way."

Mark gave the two strangers each a hard look. "You trust them?" he asked Brand frankly, not bothering with subtlety.

Brand nodded. "With my life," he said gravely. 'And yours."

A week later, Mark found himself staring up at a cold-faced Sam Winchester.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

_**Author's Note: So what do you think? Anyone interested in seeing the Winchesters from Mark's point of view? I hope so because I plan to post the next chapter soon.**_


	2. Chapter 2: Yeah, He's a Campbell Alright

**CHAPTER 2**

_A week later, Mark found himself staring up at a cold-faced Sam Winchester. _

The blond hunter had found and discreetly surveyed the Campbell compound for a couple of days before tailing a van and a Dodge Charger that left in the middle of the night loaded with enough weaponry to take down a small supernatural army. He had followed them to Shelby, Ohio and called it in to Brand. His old friend, along with his two buddies Bodger and Harnell, had done some quick digging and had figured out the town had a potential werewolf problem. Wanting to look like he was there on his own hunt, Mark loaded his 9mm with silver bullets and waited for an opportune moment.

He found it when the Campbell crew headed out to a small warehouse late the next night and the three younger hunters strolled in the front door like they owned the place. Mark slipped in the back way and followed the ruckus to find a werewolf getting the better of all three of them. The smaller of the men slammed into the wall and slumped to the ground so Mark raised his gun to aim it at the creature.

"No!" the one he assumed was Winchester shouted at him. "Don't shoot it!"

Not wanting to piss off the gang he was trying to infiltrate, Mark obeyed and lowered his 9mm just as the wolf barreled into Sam, knocking him off his feet and slashing at him with razor-sharp claws. The girl rushed forward but got swatted away viciously. Mark dove into the fray, knocking the beast off Sam but getting a deep gash on his shoulder and a really hard hit in return.

He finally heard shots and the next thing he knew, Sam was towering over him looking decidedly pissed. "What are you doing in here?" the giant hunter demanded impatiently.

Mark was on his back on the cold, hard floor of the warehouse, trying desperately to catch his breath.

"Saving your ass," he managed, struggling to get up. Sam didn't offer a helping hand.

"We were doing just fine, thanks," he sulked, folding his arms on his chest.

An older man interjected, stepping in front of Sam and reaching out to pull Mark to his feet. "Then why is Christian out cold and you look like you just went seven rounds with Jack the Ripper?" he barked over his shoulder at Sam.

Mark took the offered hand, taking a few seconds to steady himself.

"What's your name, son?" the older man asked him.

Mark glanced around the room. A brown-haired girl about his age was kneeling over the stirring hunter he assumed was the afore-mentioned Christian and the werewolf, now just a middle-aged man with three bulletholes in his chest, lay dead in the middle of the room. Regrettably, it had been Winchester that had taken the thing down. So much for making a good impression.

Now, back on his feet, the older guy was giving him a suspicious look. He figured this had to be Samuel.

"I said what's your name, son?" Samuel repeated.

"Mark Campbell."

"Campbell?" both Samuel and the girl repeated in unison.

_Good, they were taking the bait_. "Yeah, Campbell. You hunters?" he inquired.

"Yep," Samuel answered. "Who were your parents?"

"Gary and Suzanne Campbell. From Connecticut."

"Gary Campbell…" the bald man looked thoughtful for a moment. "Was his daddy Blane Campbell?"

"Yeah…" Mark feigned suspicion of his own at the intrusive questions. "Why? Who are you?

"I'm Samuel Campbell. This is Gwen Campbell," he gestured towards the girl, "And the groggy one there," he pointed to the thin man Gwen was helping to his feet, "Is Christian Campbell."

Mark greeted each in turn with a nod. "And him?" Mark jutted his chin at Sam.

"That's Sam Winchester. His mother was a Campbell."

"Sam Winchester?" Mark grinned, hoping to break the ice. "I've heard of you. You're quite the hero in certain circles."

Sam gave him a quick, tight-lipped smile in return. "In certain circles."

"So what the Hell happened in here, anyway?" Samuel asked, effectively changing the subject.

"Sam here wouldn't let me shoot the wildlife," Mark quipped, realizing Brand's suspisions that the Campbells were capturing creatures instead of killing them seemed pretty likely at this point.

"So who did shoot it?" Samuel demanded, giving Gwen a hard stare.

"Not me," she denied quickly. "It was Sam."

"I had no choice," the tall hunter defended. "Thing was stronger than most. Ripped the net. We were all down."

"Well, what's done is done," Samuel dismissed, looking over at Christian who was on his feet but leaning heavily on Gwen. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," the bleeding man answered, pressing a hand to his headwound.

"Well, let's get out of here before the local police show up. We'll patch up in the van and I'm pretty sure that diner down the road serves an all night breakfast."

It was clear Samuel was the leader. He turned to Mark and gave him a genuine smile. "Son, why don't you join us? Meet the family."

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Breakfast was excruciating for Mark, who was hounded for the duration of the meal with personal questions. He answered them all honestly and politely, though he kept his answers habitually brief. He got a few questions of his own in but didn't get any answers other than confirmation of Samuel's resurrected status. Apparently neither he nor Sam knew what had brought them back. By the end of the meal, the younger three seemed to be warming up to him almost as much as Samuel was.

The waitress gave him a lingering smile, topping up his nearly-full coffee for the third time in ten minutes. Gwen chuckled as the pretty redhead left the table.

"Looks like Sam's got a run for his money this time," she grinned.

"A little competition never hurt anybody," Christian joined in the tease clearly aimed at his second cousin with the linebacker's shoulders and the chiseled cheekbones.

"Hey, I get it when I want it," Sam smirked, not looking in the least embarrassed.

"So where are you heading next?" Samuel cut in, addressing Mark.

The blond man shrugged. "I'll find another hunt."

"Why don't we exchange phone numbers? Maybe we can work together sometime." Samuel slid his napkin across the table. "Us family should stick together."

Mark nodded, not sure why the guy was giving him a dirty napkin. He pulled out his phone, hit 'new contact' and handed it over to Samuel, holding his own hand out for the older man's phone to do the same.

Sam and Christian both laughed. Sam reached out and took the phone, punching in Samuel's number and his own. "Gramps here died in 1973, remember?" he chuckled. "He still can't work a microwave." He handed the phone back to Mark. "Text us your number."

Samuel frowned at being the butt of an obviously ongoing joke but threw enough money on the table to pay the bill and rose to his feet. "We'll be in touch," he told Mark as the three hunters with him stood also. "Good to meet you, son."

"You too, Sir." Mark nodded respectfully but remained seated.

"You not headin' out?" Gwen asked him as the three put their jackets on.

Mark gave a pointed glance over to the redhead waitress, who was smiling back at him. "Soon," he said.

Christian gave him a thump on the shoulder. "Yeah, he's a Campbell alright!" he laughed approvingly.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

He didn't hear from them for almost two weeks. It was Samuel who called, asking how soon he could be in Wisconsin to help them out on a hunt. He agreed immediately and joined up with the four he had met in Ohio plus a guy named Victor, whose branch on the family tree was as obscure as his own. It seemed trains in the state had been reporting sightings of a shadowy figure both in the trains and on the tracks. Unfortunately, each sighting was coupled with a later mysterious death of a passenger or crew member of the train. Internet and library research turned up nothing so the six hunters split into pairs to check out the three nearby railway yards for clues. Mark was paired with Sam Winchester.

The guy was certainly a good hunter. Prepared, thorough, and sporting lightening quick reflexes. Also, much to Mark's approval, not big on the small talk. In fact, he didn't ask the quiet hunter any personal questions at all. By the time they had searched the yard for traces of sulfur or EMF readings, Mark had decided that he could probably handle working with this guy, at least until he got the information he needed for Brand.

They questioned the site super and the security guard in the small booth at the entrance to the property. In both interviews, Sam took the lead and pressed the employees hard until he was satisfied he had the information he needed. The kid definitely had the intimidation thing down pat, though he wasn't big on social pleasantries. Mark's style was more stand-back-and-observe but he let Winchester do it his way in an effort to keep things running smoothly between them.

He must have been successful because even though they found nothing that could help with the case, Sam sang his praises to Samuel back at the motel. So much so, Mark realized, it was almost as if he'd been told to report back to the family patriarch. Had this been a test?

Although Mark and Sam had come up empty-handed, Christian and Gwen, who were apparently first cousins and had known each other their whole lives, landed a lead. They had found a homeless person who made a life out of riding the rails and was catching some z's in one of the parked freight cars. This man claimed to have been seeing the shadow figure for years, long before the deaths started following the sightings. It was common knowledge amoung his 'people' that the figure would show up inside a freight car every Thursday, though at different times of the day and on different trains. Until recently, however, he had only ever seen him on one stretch of rail between Ladysmith and Hawkins.

Christian obtained a schedule of all train activity in the target area while Samuel hovered over his shoulder, asking a million questions about the 'intranet' and how this worked and that worked and why had he clicked that and what did the little hand mean? The others all struggled to control their snickers as it became more and more evident Christian's patience was wearing thin. Mark couldn't help but smile himself, noticing that even though they were supposedly shady hunters up to no good, they seemed to genuinely like each other. In fact, they seemed like family.

_**His**_ family, he realized. He had come into this seeing them as the enemy but, evil intentions or not, they were his family as much as they were each other's. By blood, he was already one of them, whether he liked what he found out or not.

It was only Wednesday afternoon so they had a few hours to spare before Thrusday rolled around and Samuel ordered them to grab some sleep while they could. Mark noticed Sam seemed irritated when his suggestion to get going now anyway was dismissed by his grandfather. The guy certainly was dedicated to the hunt, Mark had to hand it to him.

So dedicated, it seemed, that he spent the next six hours in front of his laptop at the motel room table. The motel had been full so Mark had been assigned to the room with Christian and Sam while Gwen, Victor, and Samuel took the other room. Mark had offered to take the floor but Sam had insisted he wasn't tired and that he wasn't going to be using the bed anyway. Guy was a freaking robot.

Despite his extra research, however, the robot wasn't able to dig up any suspects for their suspected angry spirit. There were a lot of rail-related deaths in the area's history, especially during the Great Depression when homelessness was rampant and people travelled the rails illegally to find work. Jumping trains was dangerous and many people were hurt and killed in the process. Far too many to try and find all their graves, especially since most were penniless and nameless and didn't have recorded graves. Sam found nothing that pointed to any one in particular that could be their culprit. He did find out, however, that the section of track between Ladysmith and Hawkins was currently being replaced due to wear and tear.

It was decided they would have to try and communicate with the figure to find out who he was. Mark hadn't ever heard of that being done before, as most angry spirits weren't sane or sentient enough to communicate coherently but Samuel apparently knew of a way. Some Latin verse combined with a few symbols and White Herishime Weed that would reveal the true name of almost any entity.

Late that night, or more accurately early the next morning, Mark was paired with Christian and they were assigned to ride a cargo train heading west on the track where the sightings were.

They effortlessly pulled off the Fed gig, posing as members of the Federal Railroad Administration, or FRA, and boarding the train before it departed Cameron. They intimidated the operator enough to be allowed free reign of the cars without him questioning their movements. Since the train was loaded with open cars of steel, they found only one suitable freight car and parked themselves inside it, chalking the necessary symbols on the walls and watching for any sign of the shadow figure.

Christian, as it turned out, was a lot chattier than Sam but Mark found him pleasant enough. He didn't seem to mind Mark's one-word sentences and picked up the slack by carrying ninety-five percent of the conversation without complaint. He spoke of his wife and their home in Tennessee and wished he could spend more time with her but with all the strange goings-on in the supernatural realm these days, he felt it was his duty to focus on hunting. He raved about Samuel's unparalleled knowledge of the things that go bump and was clearly quite honoured to be one of Grandpa Campbell's most trusted.

It was twenty minutes past Ladysmith that they saw it. The room went cold and suddenly it was there, standing silently in the corner of the half-empty car. Christian and Mark jumped instantly into action, Christian reciting the Latin verses loudly as Mark burned the Herishime Weed and wafted the smoke in the direction of the shadow. Supposedly the smoke would prevent the entity from dissipating and disappearing on them. Whatever the spell's intention, it definitely succeeded in pissing the thing off because it screeched loudly and lunged at the hunters.

Christian fired a salt round from his shotgun and it screamed, charging him in a blur of blackness and throwing him into the far wall. Mark fired a series of consecrated iron rounds at it in hopes of subduing it but only succeeded in angering it further. He took a hard hit but managed to stay on his feet. Switching to an iron crowbar, he swung at it wildly, dodging and weaving as he stumbled backwards towards the area on the floor they had surrounded with the chalked symbols Samuel had given them.

It took the bait, getting a few more strikes in and knocking Mark to his feet three more times before the stubborn hunter led it away from a recovering Christian and into the trap. Once he had it in there, he scrambled out of the way and looked sharply at the other hunter. "Get the name!" he barked.

Christian kept his cool and was smiling despite the blood streaking from a cut over his eye. "Not bad for a guy who looks like he should be in a boy band," he teased calmly before turning back towards the figure thrashing about at the far end of the freight car. Again Mark got the sneaky suspicion he was being put to the test and Christian was taking mental notes to add to his report card for Samuel.

The dark-haired hunter read the second part of the Latin verses, words Mark had never heard in all his hunting years, and the Shadow figure suddenly stilled, eyes glaring angrily at the two hunters.

"What now?" Mark asked after a long, awkward minute of the hunters and the spirit simply staring at each other.

Christian shrugged apologetically. "I don't know," he admitted. "Samuel just said to read it and the name would be revealed."

As if on cue, the imposing figure started speaking. "Conrad Sparrow. Conrad Sparrow. Conrad Sparrow. Conrad Sparrow. Conrad…" It kept repeating the name.

"I say we got what we were looking for," Christian grinned. "Now we just gotta get him outta here without letting him rip our guts out." He leveled his shotgun and gave Mark a questioning glance.

Mark raised his Glock with iron rounds and gripped the iron crowbar tightly, giving his whatever-rank-of cousin a sly smile and a nod to go ahead.

Christian scraped at one of the symbols with his boot, instantly releasing the spirit from the trap. It charged Mark first, barely deterred by the consecrated iron rounds he emptied at it. He could hear Christian blasting away with the salt rounds somewhere behind the creature as he fell to the floor. The thing was on top of him in an instant and he felt its cold, steely hands around his neck choking the life out of him. Bright blotches of light were floating across his vision before he heard a blood curdling screech and the figure vanished, leaving a cloud of foul-smelling powder in its wake above him.

He coughed and sputtered and the vile powder filled his lungs as he tried desperately to suck in some much-needed air. He saw a figure kneeling down at his side and focused to see a genuinely concerned-looking Christian peering at him.

"You okay, Mark?"

"Yeah," he managed, struggling to sit up and waving a hand in the air to dissipate the remaining powder. "What was that?"

"What? The powder?" Christian was grinning at him. "Some concoction Samuel came up with. I sprinkled it on him and he bolted."

"Did you …_cough_… have to do it right on …_cough_… top of me?"

"Ain't my fault you were rolling around on the floor practically making out with the thing. Don't be such a pussy," Christian laughed, helping Mark to his feet. "It worked, didn't it?"

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

It didn't take Gwen and Sam long to con their way into the town archives and find out who Conrad Sparrow was and where he was buried. Turns out he had a homestead along the rail in the early 1900's and his only son had been killed by a train, his body dragged under the locomotive for a long way without anybody noticing, pieces of him scattered along the track for miles. Conrad had gone mad with grief, eventually throwing himself in front of a train so he could pass on and be with his son. It stood to reason he and his spirit considered this section of track as his son's final resting place and had no intention of letting it be replaced.

Samuel himself went to dig up the old grave and salt and burn the body and he asked Mark to go with him. Mark found himself doing most of the digging while the older man did most of the talking.

"Feels good to work with family, doesn't it son?" Samuel said, though it wasn't really posed as a question.

Mark nodded between shovelfuls.

"I take it you've noticed things have gotten messed up since the whole apocalypse thing last year." Also not a question. "There's something bigger going on here."

Mark spared him a glance as he paused to wipe his brow. "What is it?"

Samuel shrugged. "Damned if I know. But I'm of the mind that we hunters need to take the initiative to find out. Head whatever it is off before it starts." He paused and looked at Mark expectantly.

Mark just nodded again.

Samuel chuckled. "Son, you don't say much, do you?"

"When something needs said," Mark replied with a shrug.

"I asked around about you," Samuel offered. "Word is you keep to yourself but you're trustworthy. I can tell you, Sam and Christian are good hunters and they both like you. And you're family. I always said family should stick together. The only one you can count on to have your back is family."

Mark was pretty sure the old man would get to his point eventually but figured maybe he should help him along so he smiled and nodded. "It's been good ... working with family," he said a little awkwardly.

Samuel looked pleased. "And what's your take on the monster rule book not seeming to apply anymore?" he pressed.

Mark stopped working and stood up straight, leaning on the handle of the shovel while he caught his breath. "I say a hunter would be pretty stupid not to wonder what's going on," he said cautiously. "I know I'd like to find out."

Samuel beamed at him. "I tell you what," he said cheerily, finally picking up his own shovel and pitching in. "Your kin and I have a plan for that. Why don't you come back south with us and we'll show you what we got going. We could sure use your help."

Mark gave Samuel a hard stare and simply nodded. "Sounds good," he said as he pushed his shovel back into the hard ground.

_He was in._

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**


	3. Chapter 3: It's About Family

**CHAPTER 3** **It's about family**

_He was in._

There were advantages to not talking much. While others wasted time staking their claim in the conversation, Mark simply stood back and observed. He noticed more than most and had a knack for melting into the background, lowering the defenses of those around him. The less he said, the more others felt the need to share in an effort to fill the silence. It was with these skills he managed to pick up a fair bit of information on the workings of Samuel's group despite the fact that he was pretty much relegated to guard duty for the first six weeks he was at the compound.

The facility was an old abandoned warehouse leased under a fake registered religious group set up by Mark's second, triple, thrice removed, put back in and spun around something-or-other cousin Johnny Campbell, who was also a whiz at supplying fake ID's and procuring handy search warrants.

Samuel was unmistakably the leader but there didn't seem to be any established hierarchy beyond that. All the other hunters in the group, which Mark estimated to number about thirty, seemed to be considered equals, at least on the surface. Some lived there full time and some divided their days between the compound, hunts on the road, and their families at home. Most were related in some way to the Campbell family though a few were merely the sons or grandsons of hunters Samuel had known during his previous life.

It became evident there was an inner circle around Samuel, consisting of seven or eight hunters including Gwen, Victor, Christian, and possibly Sam. They seemed to have their own agenda going on the side, assigning themselves to specific hunts and sticking together much of the time. These few would often be summoned to Samuel's office or Mark would catch them having whispered conversations that would end abruptly when others would enter the room. He tried to time his mealtimes to match this group's and on the rare occasion he bothered to strike up a conversation, it was usually with one of them.

For the most part, no hunters argued with Grandpa Campbell or questioned his orders. In fact, the only one he didn't give direct orders to was Sam Winchester. Sam was a willing member of the group and didn't openly challenge Samuel, but he definitely made up his own marching orders. He came and went as he pleased with little or no explanation of where he was going or where he had been. But he was the son of Samuel's only child and it was clear his grandfather placed great value in that bond.

Even though he wasn't sure the sentiment was fully returned, Mark had to admit that Winchester seemed to trust Samuel, Christian, and Gwen. The four of them were the closest family of the group and seemed to stick together for hunts. Mark was sent on a few hunts with others but the train-job in Wisconsin was so far the only one he had worked with any of the inner group. In fact, it was almost six weeks before Samuel told him to grab his gear and wait for him in the back of the van.

He did just that and was still waiting when Christian hopped in the driver's seat, turning to give him a wide grin as the engine sprang to life with a loud roar. "You ready for some big game now?" he jeered.

"What's the hunt?" Mark asked.

Gwen appeared and threw a large duffel bag in the back of the van before jumping in and slamming the doors shut behind her. "You'll see," she said mysteriously, trying to get comfortable on the small bucket seat next to Mark. "Damnit," she complained, kicking at a wooden box in effort to make room for her feet. "I should insist on riding with Sam. He's got that brand new, comfortable, _**empty**_ car and we're all crammed in here like sardines."

Christian laughed. "I'd like to see you try and bully Sam into letting you ride with him. You know he doesn't like company on the long drives."

"The guy's moody," Gwen sulked.

"Yeah but he gets the job done," Samuel interjected as he climbed in the passenger seat of the van. "Without complaining."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Just trying to keep the conversation going," she said. "Somebody's gotta do it and I think we all know it won't be McChatty here," she nudged the shoulder of the blond man next to her.

Mark just smiled and didn't bother with a comeback. He had spent enough dinners with Christian and Gwen to know they teased relentlessly but didn't really mean most of it and that Samuel tended to just ignore it.

They were four hours on the road before making a quick stop to refuel. Gwen got out to work the pump and Christian strolled over to talk to Sam, who had pulled in behind them to fill up the Charger's tank.

Left alone in the van, Samuel turned to face Mark. "You've been with us for six weeks, Son," he stated. "You're a good hunter and you're family and I trust you. You understand that there's something big going on with monsters these days and I think it's time we let you in on a few things."

_Finally._

Mark remained where he was, leaning against a stolen SRU flack jacket hanging on the van wall and waited for the older man to continue.

"These monsters we hunt, do you know where they come from?" Samuel asked, not bothered by Mark's lack of response at his gesture of faith.

Mark narrowed his grey-blue eyes in thought. "Mommy monsters?" he offered finally with sly grin.

Samuel returned the smile. It didn't happen often, but the older hunter had been known to show a slight sense of humour from time to time. Mark had thus far surmised that although the man was focused and driven, he wasn't heartless by any means and seemed to genuinely care about the welfare of his men.

"Maybe," Samuel conceded. "But then where do the mothers come from?"

"Professor Xavier's school for the gifted?" Mark quipped. Realizing the X-men reference was completely lost on a man who'd been dead for thirty-five years, he shrugged apologetically. "Guess I hadn't really thought about it," he admitted.

"Well, I have. And it turns out there was a first one of all of them. A first vamp, a first shapeshifter, a first ghoul, a first Djiin. These firsts are called the Alphas, and they're much, much stronger than the regular run-of-the mill descendants."

"They still around?"

Samuel nodded. "Oh yeah. These things don't play by the rules their offspring do. They don't die easy."

"Is that what you and your closest…" Mark wagged his finger outside the van towards the three young hunters outside … "are up to?" he asked. "That why you guys take every vamp, shifter, or Djiin hunt for yourselves?"

An eyebrow arched up towards his bald head and a look of approval spread across his face. "You're good," Samuel acknowledged. "Observant."

"I notice things," Mark said simply.

Samuel glanced upwards as the sound of Christian's loud laughter caught his attention and he paused while the thin hunter and Gwen clambered back into the van. As they pulled out of the station, he looked back at Mark.

"Can we trust you to keep this to yourself?" he demanded seriously.

Gwen snorted. "I thought that would go without saying. I mean, he'd have to actually speak to blab, wouldn't he?"

Samuel's stern look silenced her.

Mark nodded, looking around at the three hunters staring at him. "Yeah, you can trust me," he said gravely.

Samuel gave him a pleased look and proceeded to tell him about their recent maneuvers. As Brand had suspected, the hunters of the compound were indeed capturing certain monsters and were taking them to a second facility geared up to contain all kinds of supernatural beings. Only seven people knew where that facility was and surprisingly, Sam Winchester was _**not**_ one of them. Most of the hunters at the compound were in on the capturing gig but were kept out of the interrogating part. The interrogations were aimed at locating the Alphas in hopes of nabbing them also and eventually finding out why the supernatural world was so out of sorts. The end game was to put things back on track, back to manageable bumps in the night where the innocent civilian population could continue living their ungrateful lives in complete ignorance.

That last line was Gwen's. Girl really had a chip on her shoulder.

Mark listened intently and couldn't help but think that their motives seemed surprisingly clean. Maybe it was six weeks of Samuel preaching the importance of family and the glorious history of the Campbells or maybe it was the new experience of spending six whole weeks seeing the same faces every day, but Mark began to think that perhaps Brand and all the other hunters should be thanking these guys instead of suspecting them of being so shady. They weren't ready to tell Mark where the secret facility was yet though and he figured he'd reserve final judgment until he had the whole story. They did, however, let him in on their immediate plans to capture a shifter in Colorado.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

_Three and a half months later…_

It was August. Mark had now been with the Campbell group for five months. He had been reporting to Brand but wasn't convinced they were up to anything that he could consider wrong.

Surprisingly, he was enjoying the camaraderie he felt with them, especially Gwen and Christian. With the exception of his father, Mark hadn't spent much time with family since his brother had died. Mark had been fourteen when sixteen-year-old Lee had pissed off a skinwalker and lost most of his face along with his life. A few years later, Mark's father, lifelong hunter Gary Campbell, had been cheated out of a hunter's death by passing away quietly in a hospital, courtesy of a bum ticker, leaving nineteen year old Mark with nobody but Brand.

Mark spent most of his time with Christian and found he soon trusted his distant cousin to have his back more than any other hunter he had worked with except Brand. Christian seemed to return the sentiment and had even taken Mark to visit his wife Arlene in Tennessee last month. Mark still hadn't been told the location of the second facility yet, but he was asked to go on most hunts with Samuel and his A-team. So much so that he felt he was one of the main players as much as Sam Winchester.

Curiously, Sam didn't seem to care that despite being Samuel's grandson, he hadn't been told the location of the Campbell's version of Gitmo. Mark hadn't figured out what the deal was with that guy yet. It seemed like Sam was in the inner circle and he spent a lot of time with that select group, but he was just different. Mark got the sense that Sam was a little _**too**_ dedicated to the hunts, in it more for the thrill of the journey than the destination. So much so that it sometimes seemed almost as if he forgot his fellow hunters were family. Granted, he was the first to offer himself up as bait, but he certainly didn't hesitate to put any of the others in the danger zone either, family or not. For him, it was all about killing the monster.

He thought Sam seemed almost detached, a little less willing than the others to allow himself to get close to his newly found family. The only reason he could fathom for the guy keeping his emotional distance was that Sam had hunted with his brother his whole life and Dean Winchester had apparently gone civilian after the Apocalypse. Mark knew how deeply losing a brother could affect a person. He used to be a happy, chatty kid before he'd lost Lee. Maybe Sam felt abandoned and was wary about forming new attachments. Or maybe he did care and Mark was misinterpreting the little things he did that hinted otherwise. Or maybe the guy was just screwed up after being locked in a cage in Hell with Lucifer for a cellmate.

Mark was reporting to Samuel's office in the compound but stopped short as the sound of shouting voices floated down the hallway.

"I said I'm sorry!" That was Samuel. "I didn't know this would happen!"

"I still don't get it. Why me?" That was Christian.

Mark turned to see Gwen sidle up next to him, clearly just as hesitant to interrupt.

Samuel lowered his volume a bit, clearly trying to calm the agitated hunter down. "I'm sure he sees how important you are to the cause," was his reply.

"I don't even know what the cause is anymore!" Christian was still riled. "What this is all about!" Neither Mark nor Gwen made any effort to move forward into view.

"It's about family," Samuel said sternly. "It's always been about family." Mark fought the urge to roll his eyes. Samuel was always playing the family card.

"Well, thanks to you, I may not have a family anymore." The anger was gone from Christian's voice and Mark thought he detected a good measure of fear. "What am I supposed to do?" the younger hunter asked Samuel.

"Help me finish this. We get this done."

There was a long pause and Gwen returned Mark's questioning look with a shrug to indicate she had no idea what the fight was about.

"Looks like I don't have a choice," Christian spat before appearing in the doorway. He barely glanced at his cousins as he stormed past them in the hallway on his way to the outside door.

Gwen leaned in to Mark. "I heard something's up with his wife," she whispered. "I don't think she likes him spending so much time away. He told me yesterday he was gonna quit and go back home. Sounds like he changed his mind."

"Or someone changed it for him," Mark murmured back as they headed to Samuel's office. He had heard Christian's grumbling of late about his marriage troubles but Gwen's theory that the argument was about that didn't seem likely to the more observant man. There was something more to this.

Samuel was in a foul mood when they entered his office. He ordered Mark to get ready for a ghoul hunt with Christian and Sam and barked at Gwen to get her ass to 'Gitmo' and prepare it for some live prisoners with skinrot.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

The day of investigation in Arlington hunting the suspected ghouls dragged slowly by, mostly due to the absence of Christian's usual chatty banter. Sam usually didn't initiate non-work-related conversations, tending to focus more on the hunt, and Mark just wasn't equipped to carry a conversation without help. It was clear something was weighing heavily on Christian but he wasn't dishing on what had happened. Mark couldn't help but notice that Sam really didn't seem to care.

They identified the ghouls by nightfall and tracked them down to a rural house near a large cemetery. The three hunters armed themselves with nets and shotguns and split up to enter the house.

Two ghouls jumped them in the kitchen, a stocky man and a younger woman. The hunters avoided using the shotguns to the head since the goal was to take them alive, so they tried instead to trap them under nets or get a sack over them.

Mark had the smaller female pinned and was working on getting her bound but Sam and Christian were having a much harder time with the male. They managed to topple him to the ground with a series of shotgun blasts to the chest but just as they pounced on him, a third ghoul showed up at the back door. The large, burly newcomer swung at Sam with his fist, knocking him off his feet. Sam sprang back up but the one they had almost subdued broke free and lunged to his feet also. Sam looked back and forth between the two but when the third suddenly bolted, he shot after it. "Get back here!" he fumed as he chased it down the hallway.

Christian suddenly found himself tackling the first ghoul all by himself. The thing was a vicious fighter, having almost bested both Christian and Sam, and had no trouble dodging Christian's fist and tossing the hunter across the room. Mark hadn't managed to rope the strong and squirmy female yet but the male was picking up the shotgun.

He had no choice but to let go of her, giving her a swift, hard kick to the face before lunging at the other ghoul before Christian got a face full of buckshot. He managed to wrestle the gun away and, with Christian's help, they finally got the tough ghoul bound and gagged. The female, however, had fled the scene out the back door the moment Mark had let her go.

Sam came back in, bruised and bleeding, but dragging an unconscious two-hundred and twenty pound ghoul. He dropped it on the kitchen floor and looked around the room.

"Where's the chick?" he demanded, breathing heavily.

Christian practically growled. "I'm fine thanks!" he snapped sarcastically. "And thanks for leaving me alone with the freakin' ninja-ghoul!"

Sam rolled his eyes and snorted. "Quit complaining. I took the big one."

"No, you took the slow one," Christian fumed, feeling his arm tenderly as if to check for breaks.

"There was two of you," Sam defended. "Besides, I couldn't let one get away. The more we bag, the more questions Samuel can ask."

"Mark was trying to rope the female." Christian wasn't letting it drop and Mark decided to stay out of it, instead double-checking the bindings.

"Yeah, the female that got away," Sam said, turning an accusing eye to the blond hunter.

"Well, _**I**_ would have been dead if he hadn't let her go!" Christian said hotly to the much taller hunter, not backing down. "Watching your partner's back comes first."

Sam huffed in obvious irritation but didn't argue further. Instead he crouched down and picked up the larger of the two ghouls, slinging him over his broad shoulder and taking him out to the van.

Christian still looked angry so Mark simply dragged the other one to its feet and manhandled it to the van also. The hunters secured them in the back with chains and slammed the van doors shut. Mark followed Sam over to the Charger since the plan was for Sam to give him a ride back to the compound while Christian took the ghouls to the secret facility.

"Mark!" Christian called over and Mark stopped with the Charger's door handle gripped in his hand. "You come with me," Christian said, jerking his head towards the van.

Mark raised an eyebrow, knowing what the invitation implied. He was going to the second facility. He glanced over the Dodge's roof at Sam, who just shrugged. The tall hunter didn't seem bothered or offended that Mark was getting in before him.

Mark gave Sam a nod goodbye and instead got in the van with Christian. They rode in silence until Mark finally asked the question.

"So why am I suddenly in the loop?"

Christian sighed and looked over at him with what Mark couldn't help but think was a look of guilt. "Because we need to get to the bottom of all this," he answered quietly. "And because I trust you and I think you can help. I need this to be over."

He didn't elaborate any further and the remainder of the trip was driven in silence.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Purgatory! They weren't trying to find out why supernatural rules had gone awry or how to keep monsters in check; they were trying to find purgatory!

What the Hell for? Answers to Mark's questions had been sparse and the little explanation he did get was more evasive than anything else. Christian had told him to just trust the old man. Gwen said she was sure Samuel had a good reason. Johnny Campbell told him to shut up and do as he was told. Victor just shrugged. Frustrated at getting no good information from the ghouls before the painfully delivered head wounds and torture had finally killed them, Samuel had simply barked that he would find out when he needed to.

Mark could see no reason why they would need to find Purgatory. He hadn't even known the place even existed. But if it did, nothing good could possibly come from finding it. If there was a good reason for looking for it, then why was he getting the runaround? His belief that the Campbells were all on the up and up was taking a serious beating. He stood alone in the warm night outside the smaller, secret facility, trying to figure it all out.

He needed to tell Brand. His old friend and his two hunting buddies Bodger and Harnell had eased their suspicions somewhat since Mark's reports were all coming back favourable, but something wasn't right here. He needed to give them the head's up, just in case this didn't end well.

He pulled out his cell phone, unable to prevent a little smile from pulling at his lips at the recollection of Gwen's earlier tease about why he even had a phone. "I text," had been his simple reply. He dialed Brand's number but the phone was snatched out of his hand before his friend answered.

He spun around, ready to throw a punch but the figure he'd seen in his peripheral standing right next to him vanished. He glanced around wildly, his hand going instantly for the knife on his belt.

"Oh come now, Love," came a male voice with a thick English accent. "Is that any way to greet your new boss?"

A man in a dark coat appeared, standing a few feet from Mark and leaning against the metal siding of the building. Mark decided against the knife and went instead for the small flask of holy water in his pocket. As he pulled it out the man flicked his wrist and the flask went flying across the gravel yard.

"You hunters are so predictable. Holy water, salt, rosaries. Frankly, it's getting boring."

"You're a demon," Mark accused, acutely aware of the fact that he was disarmed and outmatched. He glanced nervously at the door behind the man, hoping none of the others decided to come outside and walk blindly into danger.

"Well," the demon rolled his eyes, "Can't pull the wool over your eyes, can I? Name's Crowley."

"What do you want?"

"Just wanted to meet the new employee. I'm a hands on kind of boss." He gave Mark a wink.

Mark narrowed his eyes, not sure how to take the look the demon was giving him but still trying to wrap his head around why the guy was calling himself boss.

"You aren't my boss," he hissed, maintaining a defensive stance and taking a wary step backwards.

Crowley snorted. "Relax, darling," he chuckled. "If I wanted to kill you you'd be dead already. You may be of use to me yet."

Mark remained quiet.

"Oh, that's right," Crowley smiled, pushing himself off the wall of the building and taking a step forward. "You're the mute." He grinned. "You do have the silent broody thing going on."

"What do you want?" Mark repeated his earlier question.

"I'm here to help poor Grampa Samuel. Seems he sometimes has trouble keeping his soldiers in line." He paused and looked at Mark expectantly, clearly waiting for a defiant proclamation or witty comeback. When he didn't get one he waved a dismissive hand in the air and continued. "I need to know where Purgatory is," he explained. "And Good Ol' Samuel in there is my best chance of finding it."

"Samuel wouldn't work for a demon," Mark spat, though his head was spinning with the realization that Samuel was doing exactly that.

"Not just any demon," Crowley crowed. "King of Hell. And oh yes he would. _**Does**_, in fact. And so do you."

"Never."

"Never say never," Crowley seethed, his tone turning ugly. "You were about to phone that hunter friend of yours - Brand, is it? Well I can assure you, you insignificant twit, that if you mention one word of what's going on here to the outside world, Brand won't see sunrise."

Mark's breath caught. The demon wasn't threatening him but instead his oldest friend. His fists clenched at his sides but he managed to keep his cool. He would play along and get Brand to go off the grid first thing tomorrow. The older man was a hunter; he could handle himself and could manage to stay hidden from a demon. Besides, he knew the risks of the job.

"Do we have an understanding?" Crowley asked him.

Mark just nodded.

Crowley looked pleased and turned to walk away. "Oh, and if you're thinking of defying me," he said, turning back around. "I wouldn't recommend it." He grinned widely at the hunter. "Not unless you've forgotten that sweet little thing you spent last summer with. Wouldn't want to see her pretty little insides on the outside, now, would we?"

_Shit_. Kayla. He couldn't hide Kayla. She didn't even know he was a hunter, or what a hunter even was. And she wasn't likely to listen to him anyway since he had just taken off in the middle of the night after spending almost two months in her bed.

Crowley had him by the balls, or, more accurately, by the heart. He flashed back to the argument between Christian and Samuel. '_Why me?_' '_I'm sure he sees how important you are to the cause.' 'Well, thanks to you, I may not have a family anymore.'_

Christian's wife wasn't leaving him, Crowley had threatened her because Christian had been about to abandon Samuel's mission – correction, Crowley's mission. He wondered what Crowley was holding over Samuel. Who had he threatened? Some unknown relative? Girlfriend? Ew – no. Dean Winchester maybe?

"Ta ta, Chatty," Crowley smirked and disappeared just as the steel door was thrown open and Christian stepped outside.

"You coming back in?" the dark-haired man asked, clearly having no idea he had just missed the demon.

Mark now knew why Christian had brought him in on the gig and why he had seemed guilty doing it. He thought briefly that he should be angry but couldn't blame his cousin for what he had done, for putting his wife's safety over Mark's. Besides, as far as they were aware, Mark didn't have anyone for Crowley to threaten.

"Yeah," he sighed. For now he had to play ball. "I'm coming."

As they went back inside, he couldn't help but think that maybe the reason Sam hadn't been brought in was because Samuel didn't want to drag his grandson any further into this mess any more than he had to.

Whatever the reason, it was almost two weeks before they heard from the younger Winchester again and when they did, Sam was in serious trouble.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

_Author's Note: As I've mentioned before, I thought the Campbells on the show were total jerks so I wrote this chapter to better justify them being such dicks :-) And no, Christian is not yet possessed. _

_Next chapter: Mark's take on the season 6 premier when Dean's brought into the group. This is a 5-chapter story, so only 2 more to go. If you're reading, please let me know what you're thinking and leave a review :-)_


	4. Chapter 4: Exile on Main Street

_**Author's note**__: A few bad words in this chappie, I'm afraid. Sorry it took so long to post - life's been hectic._

**CHAPTER 4 – Exile on Main Street**

_It was almost two weeks before they heard from the younger Winchester again and when they did, Sam was in serious trouble. _

Samuel had gone off with Christian and Johnny for a while after the failed interrogation of the Djinn. Mark had hinted around at Gwen to see if she knew anything about this demon Crowley, but was fairly certain she didn't. It seemed maybe he was only threatening the ones who tried to jump ship or rock the boat. Mark was planning on cornering Samuel and Christian about it but hadn't seen them since. He was therefore pleased when he got a phone call from the older man asking how soon he and Gwen could meet them in Illinois.

They were given no indication of what the hunt was, just that it was urgent and that Sam was in trouble. As Mark raced the van along Highway 57 towards Charleston, Gwen called Samuel to see if he, Christian and Johnny had made it there yet only to find they weren't even in the state.

"Well if we're gonna get there first, we need to know what's going on," Gwen pointed out into the phone. She listened for a moment, her face starting to show clear signs of worry. "If I know Sam, he'll still manage to bag the crawly, juiced up or not," she said in her usual tone but Mark suspected she was rebuked by the old man for her sarcasm for she frowned and turned serious. "Don't worry, we'll find him."

She hung up and turned to Mark. "Seems Golden Boy Winchester's been infected by something," she informed him. "He was investigating some strange deaths that left the victims with white eyes but when Samuel called him, he started babbling gibberish, going on about seeing Lucifer and clowns and going back to the cage."

She said it lightly but it was evident she was worried and Mark couldn't help but echo the sentiment. Sam didn't talk about his time in Hell, however short, but there wasn't a hunter in the group that didn't admire him for being as together as he was after experiencing whatever unimaginable horrors had greeted him there. They also couldn't overlook that he had thrown himself willingly in there to pretty much save the world. Not to mention the kid was an unbelievable hunter, with lightning fast reactions and fighting skills in every discipline that matched the best in the group. In fact, there wasn't a life amoung them that his skills hadn't saved at one point or another during the past year.

"Could it be him?" Mark posed the obvious question.

"Who? Lucifer? For real?" Gwen shook her head. "No, Samuel says Sam was too incoherent. He's pretty sure the guy's hallucinating or infected with something making him paranoid. Could be ghost sickness or Aitvaras poison or a Black Dog bite ..."

Mark snorted. "These days, could be anything," he pointed out.

"Hmph. That's true. Let's just get there quick, okay? Sam's poison-induced nightmares are probably worse than most people's."

Mark was slightly surprised at Gwen's uncharacteristic admission of concern but pressed his foot on the gas pedal and they reached Sam's motel less than twenty minutes later. The hunter was registered under the name Sam Gallagher and it took Gwen less than three minutes to wrangle the room number from the desk clerk.

They knocked but when there was no answer, Mark shouldered the door in. The room was trashed, with mattresses thrown from the beds and the table and chairs all overturned. Both hunters drew their guns and entered warily, fanning out as they stepped inside.

"Sam?" Gwen called out.

There was no answer but they heard a tiny squeak from the direction of the bathroom, like a shoe on porcelain.

Mark raised his .9mm and jerked his chin as a gesture for Gwen to cover him before heading across the disheveled room to check it out. He pushed the bathroom door open slowly, keeping his gun raised and his back to the wall.

Sam was there, wedged in the back corner of the shower stall with a long silver dagger held menacingly out at Mark, his eyes wide with fear.

"Sam," Mark greeted him, raising his hands in the air in hopes of convincing his cousin to lower the weapon as he stepped into the small bathroom. He guessed the dagger was the Angel blade he had heard rumors of but that Sam never brought out, instead choosing to keep it safely hidden away.

"No!" Sam cried, his voice hoarse and his eyes wild. "I said no! You can't get in me unless I give you permission!"

Mark arched an eyebrow, his hands still in the air. "Sam, it's me, Mark."

"I'm not going back there!" Sam spat, shaking his head and looking as if he was trying to melt himself into the tub surround. "You can't take me back! I got out – I'm not going back!"

It was painfully obvious what Sam thought was happening and Mark couldn't help but feel for the guy. Sam hadn't shown so much as an ounce of fear in all the months Mark had known him. He'd charged head first into a nest of vamps, taken on a Wendigo with nothing but a single-shot flare gun, and stepped in front of a Poltergeist about to rip an investment banker in two, all of it with barely a hint of fear. Yet here he was, cowering in the back of a dingy motel bathtub, paranoid and beyond terrified.

Mark flinched when Sam made a sudden movement and couldn't help his instinctive reaction of swinging his gun back up to aim at the chest of the clearly infected and hallucinating hunter. Sam didn't attack, however, and instead simply flicked on his zippo and tossed it at the ground at Mark's feet.

A ring of fire erupted around Mark in the small room but he held his ground, barely taking his eyes off Sam. This must be the holy oil Sam had told them about that had the power to trap an angel.

Clearly, Sam thought he was Lucifer. Mark lowered his gun again and took a slow step backwards towards the door, knowing there was no point in trying to reason with a man infected by some kind of supernatural poison. "I'm leaving," he said submissively. "You're safe, Sam, I'm leaving."

He backed out of the bathroom to meet Gwen's questioning stare. "He's out of it," he said quietly. "Thinks I'm the Devil trying to drag him back to the pit."

"Let me try," Gwen said, tucking her gun into her pants waistline and stepping into the bathroom with her hands up. "Sam?"

"RUBY! You bitch! How are you still alive?" Mark heard Sam bellow before Gwen flew back into the room, followed closely by a charging Sam. The six-foot-four wall of muscle lunged after her, the Angel blade in his arm sweeping down in a smooth, deadly arc as he knocked her to the floor. Mark jumped forward, throwing his weight against Sam in an effort to deflect the knife, which pierced the dirty motel rug an inch from Gwen's head and embedded deeply into the wooden floor beneath.

Mark slammed his knee upwards, landing it solidly in Sam's face and knocking him onto the floor next to Gwen. The blond man dove forward to get on top of the larger hunter and hopefully subdue him but Winchester was too quick. Mark only landed one solid punch to the guy's face before Sam rolled free and to his feet. Not lacking in hunter's instincts herself, Gwen wrenched the dagger out of the floor and moved out of harm's way to recover and reassess.

All three of them were now on their feet. Mark hadn't seen him draw it, but Sam now had a two-round, sawed-off shotgun in his hand, holding it threateningly in Gwen's direction. Mark still had his 9mm drawn and he held it trained on the wild-eyed hunter.

"Put the gun down, Sam."

Sam sneered at him. "Go ahead," he hissed, glancing at Mark's gun. "Shoot me. You kill me and I'd say there's a fifty-fifty chance I go upstairs. Either way, you're not getting back in here."

He then turned to Gwen. "You know he thinks demons are scum," he told her. "He'll wipe your kind out as soon as he's done killing all the humans."

"Sam, it's me, Gwen," she said, her voice tense. Mark was fairly certain it was salt rounds in the shotgun but at that close range, they could do a lot of damage.

"Shut the fuck up, Ruby!" Sam yelled back, growing even more agitated. "You fooled me once, it won't happen again!"

He turned back to Mark again, who couldn't bring himself to lower his 9mm. If truth be told, he was fairly certain Sam could take him in a fair fight, never mind with the added strength of terror-induced adrenaline. He hoped like hell he wasn't going to have to shoot the guy to save Gwen but found himself trying to decide where would be the best non-lethal place to sink a bullet.

"You're not taking me back there!" Sam repeated, his voice bordering on panic. "You're not!"

He pulled the shotgun back, jamming the muzzle under his chin. "You can't have me!"

"NO!" Mark and Gwen both lunged forward, yanking the shotgun out from under Sam's face just as it went off, the round blasting a series of holes in the ceiling plaster.

Sam lashed out violently at them both, breaking free and bolting for the door. By the time Mark made it to the threshold himself, Sam was already starting up the engine of the black Dodge with a roar. The blond hunter dashed towards the van parked a few doors down but reconsidered when he got there as Sam's wheels had already kicked up a cloud of dust and gravel and the Charger was peeling out of the parking lot. There was no way they'd catch up to him in the older, speed-challenged van.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath heading quickly back for the room. A gunshot had been fired so no doubt police had been called and they needed to haul ass out of there. Gwen was clearly thinking the same thing because when he stepped back inside, she was already grabbing all of Sam's things, including his clothes and his laptop, and shoving them inside his duffel.

"Let's go," Mark ordered, snatching the heavy bag from her hastily as they practically ran to the van, keeping their heads down as much as possible.

Once clear of the scene and confident they weren't being followed, Gwen called Samuel again and filled him in on the situation. They met him, Christian, and Johnny at a diner on the edge of town and took Sam's duffel inside. Hopefully they would find a lead somewhere inside.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Johnny finally cracked Sam's password - 01241984 - and got into the hunter's laptop. Sam didn't follow the traditional route of keeping a manual journal but instead did it electronically. With that log and Sam's web search history, there was good chance they would find some clue as to what had poisoned him in his computer.

As was his habit in team pow-wows, Mark slumped back in the booth and listened to the discussion, only contributing when he had something worthwhile to add. He admired the Angel dagger they had found in Sam's duffel, tracing his finger ever so lightly over the seemingly infinitely sharp blade. It was without a doubt an impressive-looking weapon but was surprisingly plain, making it all the more deceiving how much power it really held. This thing could kill an angel. This thing could possibly kill Lucifer. No wonder Sam was so secretive about it and usually kept it close. If anyone had motive to kill Lucifer, it was Sam.

It was clear Samuel was worried - more so than Mark had ever seen him. Even though the older hunter didn't trust Sam enough to bring him in on the interrogations, he made no secret of the fact that the kid was his closest kin, the child of his only daughter. In fact, Mark didn't think Sam was being left out for lack of trust, but more due to Samuel's inability to control the headstrong hunter.

Samuel was now sorting through a pile of papers that Gwen had crammed into the duffel from the floor in the room. Some were newspaper clippings of the deaths that had triggered the missing hunter's interest to start with. There were copies of police reports and autopsy findings that Sam had obtained during his investigation, no doubt through the usual methods of lying, impersonation, and stealing.

Sam's thorough legwork had turned up some helpful clues. A couple of the victims had mentioned seeing a woman with tattoos on her arms to their families. That in itself wasn't strange but one man had said his friend had claimed the tattoos had just appeared out of nowhere. In all three cases, it was shortly after meeting this woman that the strange behavior started. Sam had noted considerable interest in the tattoos. Samuel made some 'follow-up calls' to fill in the details.

Sam's last entry in his laptop recounted his trip to a local cafe in search of the woman in question. He suspected it was Katherine, the new waitress, but while interviewing her, a friend of hers came in. Sam described him as a bald man in his thirties with an angry vibe. '_They know my real name_' he had written, implying the pair knew he was Sam Winchester. '_Tailed them as far as Weldon Street – lost them_'.

The Campbells in the diner were able to figure out what the culprit was from Samuel's seemingly unlimited knowledge of the supernatural. Seriously, the guy knew things Mark had never even heard of before. The younger hunter wondered how Samuel wasn't more of a legend in hunter circles. Granted, his own father had fallen out with most of his family in his youth and had made a point never to introduce Mark or Lee to any of the other Campbells, but it was a travesty that Samuel's incredibly informative journal had never been found under the floor boards of his old house in Lawrence, Kansas. That wealth of information could have saved many lives in the thirty-some years it sat there gathering dust.

Turns out there was lore of The Djinn that involved victims' eyes turning white under the influence of their toxins and it was a well-known fact the poison was a powerful hallucinogen. Coupled with the tattoo stories, Samuel figured they were most likely dealing with a couple of Djinn. How they were appearing in human form, nobody knew but Mark had to admit that these days, anything was possible.

"If it was a Djinn, how would it know who Sam was?" Gwen asked. "Think they could be working with demons?"

Every demon knew who Sam Winchester was.

Christian shook his head. "Sam said he and Dean took one out a couple of years back. The thing got a good hold on Dean before they wasted it. Maybe it had a friend."

"Or maybe this is something else we ain't never seen before," Johnny added.

"Doesn't matter if we can't find Sam," Mark pointed out, making a valid point. "Soon."

"Yeah, he's right," Gwen chimed in. "He was seriously out of it. He almost shot himself to keep Lucifer from possessing him again."

Samuel's forehead pulled into a worried frown. "We need to move fast," he said tersely. "If Sam thinks Lucifer's after him, where's he gonna go?"

"Back to the motel room?" Gwen offered. "Get his stuff?"

"No," Christian shook his head. "If he thinks Ol' Lucy found him there once, no way he'll go back. He'll get out of Dodge."

Mark held up the Angel knife. "He'll come for this."

"That's right," Samuel nodded. "It's the only chance he has against Lucifer. This is Sam we're talking about. He won't tuck tail and run; he'll try to take the Devil down."

Gwen shook her head. "I don't know, Samuel," she said. "You didn't see him. I know he's a helluva hunter and doesn't usually break a sweat, but I've never seen anyone so scared."

"Roasting in the worst corner of Hell with the Devil rammed up your ass while battling it out with his brother, the dickwad head-honcho archangel?" Johnny snorted. "Can't blame the guy for not wanting to go back."

Deep lines of concentration creased Samuel's forehead and he let out a long exhale. "Okay," he said finally. "We stake out the motel and hope Sam's hunting instincts can push past his fear on this one. If he runs, we'll never find him. And he may not have much time left." He looked around at the four younger hunters with an intensely serious expression. "Remember, he could think any of you are anyone or any_**thing**_ and if he thinks he's cornered, he just might try to take his own life again. This is my grandson. I want everyone at the top of their game."

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

They staked out the motel, or more accurately, they stakeout the spots from which an experienced hunter would stakeout the motel. Johnny had first gone to gather the supplies needed for Samuel to furnish them all with a syringe full of a white liquid that he claimed was an antidote to Djinn poison.

The cops had come and gone by the time they arrived, clearly losing interest when it was apparent there was nobody left in the room to question about the gunshot and the name on the motel register turned out to be a fake.

Sure enough, two hours after the cover of darkness had settled in, Sam appeared. Somehow he had managed to slip past all of them and was almost at the motel building by the time Christian sent up the alarm over their radios. Samuel ordered them to stay hidden until Sam entered the room since they couldn't risk a struggle out here in the parking lot.

Keeping his head down and walking in the shadow of the building, Mark watched Sam stride along the length of the motel's wooden porch. With a nervous glance around the seemingly empty parking lot, he stopped at his room door and pressed an ear against it for a second before proceeding to pick the lock. Just at that moment, a woman stepped out of the adjacent room door, closing it behind her and starting across the porch towards her car.

Mark held his breath from his vantage point in an old stolen Ford pick-up parked on the edge of the lot. He noticed Sam stiffen at the interruption and glance suspiciously behind him at the woman. He exhaled in relief when he saw the large hunter turn the handle of his old room and push the door ajar. He was just reaching for the handle of the pick-up, planning to make a slow, quiet exit as soon as Sam was inside the room, when he saw a flash of movement.

Sam spun around, took one step towards the unsuspecting lady and slammed his fist into the side of her head, catching her in his arms as she fell. He clamped his hand over her mouth and dragged her roughly into the room, shutting the door behind him with barely a click. It all happened so fast Mark's head was spinning trying to figure out what was going on but he jumped out of the truck and raced towards the room. As he neared it, he saw the other Campbells appearing from their various hiding places also.

Samuel had been the closest and arrived first, throwing open the door and storming inside, followed closely by Christian, Mark, Gwen, then Johnny, who closed the door again behind him.

Sam had the terrified woman by the throat held up against the far wall but when he heard the door thrown open, he turned around, yanking her in front of him to use as a shield, a knife held to her throat.

"Son, let the woman go," Samuel said in a commanding tone, holding his hands out in front of him in the universal '_calm down_' gesture.

"Samuel," Sam rasped, his eyes wide and frantic as he glanced around at them all.

"Yeah, Sam, it's me," Samuel acknowledged, gesturing slightly for the rest to stay back and give Sam some space.

"Look, Samuel," Sam said, yanking the woman's neck. "I found Ruby." The woman was choking and clawing at the hunter's fingers around her neck but to no avail. Sam clearly wasn't letting her go.

"That's not Ruby," Samuel told him sternly. "Let the woman go. You can trust me."

Sam narrowed his eyes at all of them, studying them closely but not letting go of his prize. He suddenly gasped and stepped back, rage filling his green eyes. "No!" he shouted. "You're possessed!" He waved the knife in his hand at all of them. "Your eyes! All of you!"

"Sam, we're not possessed," Christian tried to reason, stepping up beside Samuel. "You got poisoned by a Djinn."

"I'll kill all of you!" Sam roared. "I've got Ruby's knife!" He held the blade up. It wasn't the supposed demon-killing knife he had told them about that he had acquired from Ruby but instead a plain, iron deer-hunting knife. Another delusion.

"Son, that's not..."

Samuel was cut off when Sam yelled "This backstabbing bitch dies first!" and thrust the knife deep into the back of the woman, whose eyes flew open and a couple of gurgling noises escaped her gaping mouth before she went stiff in the hunters arms. Sam dropped her to the ground and stepped over her without so much as a downward glance as he charged the rest of them with a mad look in his eyes.

It was Christian who almost got the blade in his throat, and probably would have had he not managed to step sideways as fast as he did. Mark and Samuel both took instant advantage and immediately jabbed the syringes into the delusional hunter's side and shoulder, injecting him with a double dose of the antidote. Sam thrashed about wildly for a second or two, giving Johnny a deep gash in the leg before collapsing unconscious to the floor.

Gwen stepped over to the woman and squatted down to check for a pulse, though it was fairly obvious she was dead. The four men still standing took only a few seconds to gather their wits before Samuel barked at Gwen to bring the van around and ordered Christian and Mark to get Sam up off the floor. He peeked out the window to make sure nobody was outside, perhaps looking for the woman who lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, and moved quickly to help Johnny tie a scrap of cloth around his leg where Sam had sliced him.

They had Sam loaded and were out of there less than thirty seconds later.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Mark and Christian stayed behind in Charleston to bag the game but there was no sign of the Djinn. Katherine, the tattooed waitress, hadn't shown up for work and the address she'd given her boss had been a fake.

Mark had taken advantage of the brief time alone with Christian to confront him about Crowley. Christian admitted the demon had threatened his wife when he had been contemplating leaving Samuel's group. He actually sounded genuinely regretful when Mark told him Crowley had threatened an old girlfriend, though he quickly followed up his apology with a sarcastic "Wait a minute, how did you get a girlfriend? What the hell kind of pick-up lines do you use? Do you just grunt at them or point to your pants and nod?"

Christian had no clue what Crowley was holding over Samuel and as far as he was aware, the three of them were the only ones that knew about the demon involvement. They both agreed that the Purgatory thing was a disaster waiting to happen but that in the meantime, they could at least gather some useful information themselves about the strange behavior of the supernatural beings these days. Wrangle something good out of this fucked up mess. They headed back to the compound.

Sam was out for a full day and a half. He was laid out on the cot he used whenever he stayed at the compound and Samuel ordered that someone was to stay with him until he woke up. When the younger Winchester finally did open his eyes, it was on Christian's watch. Mark heard Sam's voice as he passed by the room and came in also to check on him. Sam had awoken agitated, thinking Lucifer was back topside and looking for him so Christian quickly filled him in on the whole story, from the poison to the fact that it hadn't been Ruby he'd killed but instead an innocent bystander. Mark had doubted the wisdom of divulging that information, thinking it unnecessarily cruel but was surprised to find Sam didn't seem particularly bothered by it. Christian's "Look, it wasn't your fault, you really thought it was Ruby," was greeted with a dismissive "Yeah, I know," brush-off.

Christian finished up with a recount of the failed attempt to find the Djinn after Sam had been dosed with the antidote. Sam's brow was furrowed in concentration. "They knew me," he told them. "I heard them talking. They had a grudge against me."

He stood up quickly. "Shit," he cursed. "Against _**us**_. They had a grudge against _**us**_."

"Us?" Christian looked doubtful. "We haven't even started on the Djinn yet."

"No," Sam shook his head. "Not us, here. Me and Dean. They'll be going for Dean next." He gave them both a determined look. "Guys, he's a sitting duck. He doesn't even hunt anymore. I gotta go get Dean."

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Dean Winchester wasn't in nearly as bad shape as Sam had been. He was gasping and struggling against some unseen enemy in the garage of his house in the suburbs when Sam stuck him with the antidote, but they'd found him while he was still easily treatable.

In fact, he was only out a couple of hours. Mark cleaned his gun while Christian, Gwen and Samuel poured over the maps of the town, trying to figure out where the Djinn would turn up next. Johnny was sent to stake out Dean's house in case they decided to show up there. The group hadn't worked out their next move yet when the doors to the next room in the abandoned factory they were holed up in suddenly swung open and Sam walked in, followed by a bewildered looking Dean Winchester.

For all Mark had heard about the elder Winchester – he'd survived Hell, was chosen by Angels to host their most powerful warrior to defeat Lucifer, fought fiercely to protect his family against all odds – Mark found himself a bit under whelmed at his first sight of the man awake and alert. He seemed strangely … normal. He wasn't sure what he had expected, someone more like Sam maybe, forward and fearless, but the guy being introduced to them now seemed a bit more like a deer caught in the headlights. He supposed the guy _**had**_ just been hit with the knowledge that not only was his dead brother very much alive, but so was his dead grandfather, and that they had been lying to him about it for almost a year.

Gwen was her usual sarcastic, teasing self upon formal introduction, and Mark couldn't help but notice the jovial ribbing went completely over Dean's head. When Samuel asked them to give him a moment alone with his grandsons, Mark obliged politely and, as he passed his newly found cousin on his way to the door, couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for him. He imagined he'd be a bit stunned if Lee suddenly walked in and told him he'd been alive this whole time.

It wasn't two minutes later that Dean was racing out the door with Sam, demanding he take him home now to check on his girlfriend and her son. Mark couldn't blame the guy, really. The joy of two loved ones popping up from the grave would certainly be dampened if two others got killed in its wake.

Sam called twenty minutes later to tell them Johnny was dead. By the time Mark and Christian made it over there to retrieve their cousin's body, Sam was driving Dean and his civilian family to South Dakota. The four remaining hunters gave Johnny a proper salt and burn, a respectful and solemn send-off. Johnny had been a bit of an ass, but he had been a valuable team member and he had been family. There was a definite determined air about the place they were squatting as they fished for information or clues that would lead them to these Djinn and readied their small arsenal.

Sam and Dean didn't make it back until the next day and Dean was certainly more animated than he had been yesterday. His protective reputation was finally seeing a lot more credibility and his smartass attitude Mark had heard so much about from Sam seemed to be making its first appearance. Mark and Gwen shared a sly smile when the newcomer put Christian in his place with his admittedly clever suggestion that they go to Dean's house and use the Winchesters as bait to draw out the Djinn.

At the house, Gwen and Christian immediately started ridiculing the civilian abode. Gwen's grudge against 'normal' people was brought out immediately as she mocked Dean's girlfriend's choice of magazines. Mark had figured his cousin's blatant animosity stemmed from a secret and unacknowledged desire to have lived the life of a normal teenage girl herself. Being a Campbell, her father had never bought her dolls, she'd missed her prom for a Poltergeist hunt, and she had never been permitted to date a guy who couldn't dress down an AK-47 in less than twenty seconds.

Even Sam joined in the ridicule, holding up a golf club with a condescending look on his face and a derogatory "Golf?" If Mark felt sorry for Dean earlier, he felt worse now. He picked up a picture of Dean, his pretty girlfriend, and her son from an end table. They looked happy together. Normal.

Lee had wanted normal. Mark's big brother had always sworn that as soon as Mark was sixteen, they were quitting hunting and taking off to travel the country together for enjoyment and adventure instead of violence and death. Mark had even tried normal himself, last summer with Kayla. He'd spent two months out of the hunting world, living a safe, civilian life with grocery runs and movie dates. But he'd inadvertently seen a newspaper article about a series of weird drownings in Kentucky and it had nagged and eaten at him until he had finally left to go work the case. He'd taken off in the middle of the night without so much as a goodbye. Not his proudest moment.

Dean didn't hide his annoyance at the invasion into his private life. He was clearly not comfortable with the judgmental attitude of his newly discovered kin and was edgy and defensive. He snatched the picture out of Mark's hands, as if a hunter touching even a picture of his makeshift family would somehow taint it. Mark didn't get offended but didn't apologize – that really wasn't his style. Dean would figure the family out soon enough if he stuck around after this. They would tease but they have his back. Hell, Johnny had just died looking out for Dean's family, so as far as the Campbell cousins were concerned, a little resentment at this point was justified.

As usual, Mark volunteered for guard duty outside in the van, where he could be alone. On his way out, he overheard some of a discussion between the brothers in the garage. Sam was admitting that he had dropped by on occasion to check on Dean without the elder Winchester's knowledge. Dean had noticed one of the Angel knives going missing from the trunk of his car and had called Sam on it. Justifiably so, Dean was still pissed that Sam had let him go a whole year without putting him out of his misery and telling him his little brother wasn't suffering in Hell. Mark was pretty sure that would be a bone of contention between the pair for a while to come. From what Mark had heard, Samuel had indeed wanted to bring Dean in right away but Sam had insisted adamantly that his brother be left alone.

Of course, he couldn't help but think Dean would be better off not knowing. He was in this mess now, whether he liked it or not. Looked like his stint in suburbia was over.

Another one for Crowley to get his claws in.

Dean finally figured out the Djinn weren't going to show unless they thought they had a numbers advantage so Samuel ordered them all to leave Sam and Dean alone. They pulled over a few blocks away and waited for the signal.

Sure enough, it came less than half and hour later. A quick call from Sam to say the Djinn were here and that Dean had gone across the street because they attacked the neighbors first. Mark was ordered to check on Dean while he and Christian went to Sam's rescue. Gwen was told to keep the van running.

He found Dean on the floor, eyes white, barely breathing, and mumbling terrified whispers like he was having one Hell of a nightmare. There were no Djinn around so he jabbed the antidote into Dean's chest and depressed the plunger, feeling for a pulse. It was weak but perceptible. He looked out the window across the street and could see a commotion going on in Dean's house. He badly wanted to get back over there to make sure the others were all right but didn't think it would be wise to just leave Dean here, helpless on the floor.

He squatted back down to check the hunter's pulse again, hoping it was strong enough to risk picking the man up, but found it still to weak to take that chance. He swore under his breath - yes, he even did that silently – and paced impatiently between the kitchen door and his unconscious cousin. Finally, Sam stormed in, eyes fearsome and ready for a fight.

"He's alive," Mark said curtly. "I stuck him with the antidote." And with that he dashed out the door and back across the street.

He found the others loading the one surviving Djinn into the van. After a quick inquiry into Dean's status, Samuel ordered Mark, Gwen, and Christian to get their prisoner to the second facility and prepare it for questioning. The older hunter stayed behind for a couple of hours to make sure his grandson made it though his second bout with Djinn poisoning in as many days.

Sam showed up at the compound a couple of days later with the news that his brother had decided to stay where he was to protect Lisa and Ben. Mark was surprised but also somewhat impressed that Dean had decided to stick it out in Mayberry even after the hunting life had found him there. Surely he realized it was bound to find him again. You couldn't walk away from thirty years of hunting without some of the stench following you out.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

_**Author's Note**__: Next chapter is the last chapter – Mark's take on 'Two and a Half Men'._

_Magicallyinclined, thanks for the review – and I think I just answered your question._


	5. Chapter 5: Two and a Half Men

**CHAPTER 5 - Two and a Half Men**

_You couldn't walk away from thirty years of hunting without some of the stench following you out._

.

It was three weeks later when Mark and Christian returned to the compound to hear Sam and Dean were on their way over with a baby shifter.

"I thought Dean was out," Christian sneered.

"He is," Samuel informed them. "He's just helping Sam out with the baby."

Gwen and Christian both laughed. Mark couldn't help but smile also, picturing Sam trying to change a diaper or soothe a baby to sleep. It wasn't surprising he would call for help.

"Great," Christian rolled his eyes. "But Mr. Mom actually agreed to bring the thing here? Coz I wasn't exactly feeling the warm and fuzzy family cheer from him last time we saw him."

"You mean the time we saved his civilian ass?" Gwen added snidely.

Samuel sighed, loudly enough to silence the derogatory remarks towards his eldest grandson. "He's family," he warned sternly. "And he's Sam's brother. Just let me know when they get here. We could learn a hell of a lot from a shifter baby." He left the room, heading to his office where he spent most of his time these days.

"I suppose that means we have to be nice," Gwen griped.

Christian snorted, clearly not liking the sound of that.

Mark didn't quite understand their blatant dislike for the elder Winchester. It wasn't his fault Johnny had died. Of course these days, Christian didn't seem to like anybody. The stress of Crowley's threat to his wife seemed to be weighing heavily on him for the past couple of weeks, he had been different. He was normally sarcastic but these days he was just nasty. He was, however, increasingly gung-ho to nab the monsters, obviously eager to satisfy Crowley and get the demon off their backs. Couldn't really blame him for that.

In fact, since the threat from Crowley to Brand and Kayla, Mark felt closer to his family than ever before. They weren't the bad guys Brand had thought they were. They were all in the same boat as him, doing this for the sake of people they cared about. Some, like Gwen, were simply going along with everything out of a total trust for Samuel. He, Christian, and Samuel were being bullied by demons but were still looking out for each other. He liked the feeling of having family around to have his back. He hadn't had that comfort for a long time.

He was determined to get them out of this mess.

As for Dean Winchester, it was probably for the best that Christian and Gwen hadn't taken to him. Better for Dean if he stayed out of this. Mark was surprised that Sam now seemed so eager to drag his brother into it, after a year of insisting he was strictly off limits. He couldn't understand why Sam didn't just let Dean go back to his girlfriend and the kid. The hunters at the compound were all in this shitstorm already but there was no need to suck somebody new into it. He couldn't help but notice that Lisa and Ben would be the perfect collateral to get Dean to become Crowley's next finger puppet. Bringing Dean into this was endangering them, innocent civilians, but Sam didn't seem too bothered by that.

On the other hand, a shifter baby was quite the find. For starters, it meant shifters bred, like humans, rather than just … happening. A shifter baby was already in the life, there was no chance of normal for it. Now if it turned out that nurture could win over nature, this might be a monster they didn't have to kill. Heck, it could mean they'd have a super-strong ally that could only be killed by silver. How many of the monsters out there carried silver blades or bullets? He'd be almost invincible. He could do a hunter's work without meeting an early grave like most. Not to mention the endless possibilities for gathering information and getting other hunters out of legal jams with a shifter on the payroll that could impersonate any Fed or law enforcement officer and gain their memories without breaking a sweat. The prospect was actually kind of exciting.

Sam had told his grandfather that a grown shifter had shown up at their motel room to try and take the baby back. It had mentioned their 'father' and Sam had thought he may have been referring to the alpha shifter. This could be the big break they were looking for. This could lead to the capture of an alpha, which in turn might mean finding Purgatory and removing the threat of Crowley. Oh, they'd still hunt him down and kill him, that much he knew for sure, but at least Brand and Kayla and Arlene would be safe.

It wasn't long before the Winchesters rolled into the yard in Sam's sleek, black Dodge Charger. Mark, Gwen and Christian were in the armory when they heard the brothers coming down the hall.

"You need to relax, Dean," Sam was saying. "_**I**_ know them. _**I **_trust them, okay? Mark and Christian have saved my ass more than once."

"Who, Jay and Silent Bob? They don't …"

His comment was cutoff as the brothers rounded the corner and found the three Campbell cousins in the armory to greet them. Dean didn't offer an apology but instead pulled the baby in his arms closer to him in a protective manner. Mark couldn't help but feel his neck hairs bristle at the insinuation that the Campbells were the threat here. He didn't have a grudge against Dean, but the guy should at least show them some appreciation for saving his ass last month.

"Hey guys," Sam greeted them. "Where's Samuel?"

"In his office," Christian informed him stiffly.

Sam nodded and wandered down the hall to retrieve his grandfather, leaving Dean alone with the cousins he obviously didn't trust any further than he could throw. Dean stood defensively in the middle of the room, not even breaking a smile as Christian sidled past him and Gwen attempted, in her own way, to break the ice by cooing ever so sarcastically over the baby. Dean's clear discomfort was increasing with every second his brother was gone and when he caught Mark's eye, he turned the defensive into offensive.

"What, you got something to say?"

As usual, Mark didn't.

"No? Well alright, you just stand there and think at me."

Mark didn't bother with a comeback but just walked away. Sam and Samuel entered just at that moment but unfortunately, things just got more tense from there. Dean was openly belligerent towards Samuel and Christian lost his cool, calling the newcomer on his distrust and then throwing in a jab about Dean torturing souls in Hell. Dean apparently didn't think hunters were worthy of raising a baby, shapeshifter spawn or not, and it was rubbing them all the wrong way.

Mark had been raised by a hunter. His Mom had died when he was just a toddler but his father had loved him and cared for him and he didn't resent the man for teaching him the ways of a hunter, teaching him how to protect himself and help people in trouble. His older brother Lee had hated hunting and had always wanted out but their Dad had said as soon as they hit sixteen, the choice would be theirs. Hunters were good people. This guy and his one year of fluffy living in the suburbs certainly didn't get to judge Mark or his family and condone them and their way of life without even knowing them.

Besides, the guy was being stupid. The baby was a _**shifter**_. Normal wasn't an option for it. Better raised by hunters who could protect it and teach it right and wrong than by some shifter or worse, the alpha shifter.

Even Sam was getting annoyed at Dean's refusal to even try to make things work with their new extended family. Samuel handed the baby over to Christian and Dean protested loudly, claiming he didn't have any business raising anything. Sam interrupted with a challenging "Why Dean? Coz he's a hunter?"

Mark was curious to see the how the brotherly showdown went but the guard dogs in the yard were suddenly silenced with sickening yelps and the family drama was cut short, everyone snapping into alert mode instantly.

Samuel handed the baby back to Dean and ordered him and Sam down to the panic room in the basement. Mark bolted the back door shut and scrambled to arm himself, readying his silver blade. If this was a shifter, silver was the only thing that would work.

The thing barged in seconds later and it was evident they were all taken aback by the fact that it was the spitting image of Samuel, right down to the clothes. Mark hoped this meant it had simply walked past the guards outside instead of killing them to get this far. It strolled boldly into the room and looked straight at Samuel. "You have something of ours."

They all stood staring at the shifter. Could it be the alpha?

"I know he's here. I can feel him."

It was interrupted by a blast of silver buckshot from Gwen. She fired a second time, landing another shot squarely in its back.

_Good girl_, Mark thought, impressed. A double round with that much silver was enough to take down four shifters.

But it didn't go down. It simply cricked his neck and turned to face Gwen, and angry snarl on its copied face. How could it still be walking? It had to be the alpha. It started moving towards Gwen, whose modified rifle only had the two shots. She was a sitting duck.

Mark strode forward, planting himself in between his smaller cousin and the monster. He wasn't losing any more family to these supernatural sonsabitches. He rammed his knife hilt-deep into its chest but again the thing barely flinched. He knew right then they were outmatched. He felt rather than saw Samuel's silver tranquilizer dart sink into the monster's back as its steely hand wrapped itself around his chin, lifting him up off the ground.

This thing was going to beat them. _Shit. Please don't let it beat them_. His family needed to get out of here. "Run!" he managed to cry out before his world went black.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Mark looked over towards the driver's seat of the old Cutlass, squinting in the bright afternoon sun. Lee was grinning over at him, his mass of bright blond curls blowing wildly in the wind from the open window.

"Earth to Little Brother," Lee jeered. "So, are you in or what?"

"What about Dad?" Mark replied, wondering where his question had come from since he was suddenly not sure what the conversation was even about. He had a vague notion of fighting a shifter and his hand came up to absently rub his neck.

"Hey, it's Dad's own rule," Lee pointed out. "When we turn sixteen, we're free to leave, remember? Well, I'm now sixteen."

"Yeah but I'm only fourteen," Mark pointed out, realizing as he said it that it was true. He _**was**_ only fourteen. He sensed a multitude of memories tumbling about in the back of his mind, good and bad memories and, quite disturbingly, memories of his older self. He couldn't seem to quite focus on them though, no matter how hard he tried.

"That's okay, Squirt. You know I'll wait for you. Less than two years to go and we're homefree."

"Where'll we go?" Mark chirped, looking out the window at the dry Arizona landscape. This was Lee's first solo hunt, he realized, the first time Dad had agreed to let him take the lead without him there. Naturally, Lee had argued to take Mark with him. It was just an angry spirit, an easy job, and Gary had finally agreed to let his youngest go too.

"That's just it," Lee laughed. "We can go wherever we want!"

"Can we go to LA?"

"Sure." His brother gave him a curious look. "What's in LA?"

Mark snorted. "Are you kidding? Alicia Silverstone, for one."

"The chick from the Aerosmith videos?"

"Yeah, she's smokin'."

"As if you'd have a chance with her," Lee teased. "She's like nineteen."

"You got a better plan?"

"Yeah, only in my plan, _**I'm**_ the one making out with Alicia."

Mark snorted. "In your dreams. Last time you made out with a chick she slapped you, remember?"

Lee nodded, his grin growing wider. "Yeah, right. Mellie Conrad. She was a tease. LA girls are different."

"Maybe we could be actors," Mark offered, his smile fading slightly as another vague thought drifted through the dark corners of his mind. An image of Lee being ripped apart by a skinwalker only a few months from this day. He shook his head and rid himself of the horrifying notion.

"Actors are dweebs," Lee dismissed, reaching forward to turn up the radio. Oasis's Wonderwall blared from the crackly speakers. "We should be rock stars. I can play a mean guitar."

Mark nodded excitedly. "I could be the singer!"

"Yeah, you'd definitely be the singer. That way you could listen to yourself all day long. Maybe then you'd stop your constant yammering."

Mark ignored the familiar tease. He did talk a lot. He brushed away a sneaking suspicion that he no longer did so and looked back over at his grinning brother. This was the day he and Lee had planned their futures. Their futures _**after **_hunting. Strangely, he had known at the time that this would be one of his fondest memories.

Lee's wild hair and goofy grin beckoned to him. His brother was now singing along to their favorite band's new release, out of tune and way off key as usual. The nagging memories of the fifteen years after this suddenly faded and he allowed himself to be completely lost in the moment, thoughts of traveling the country with Lee and Alicia Silverstone filling his mind.

Life was great.

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_**Author's Note:**__ Hi there. I've never killed off my main character before so I hope I softened it a bit with the Heaven scene. _

_Hopefully everyone who has read this doesn't hate the Campbells as much as they did beforehand. I can't really explain why none of them seemed to care much after Mark got killed, except that Gwen was quiet in that scene afterwards so maybe she was keeping it bottled inside. She did cry out his name when he got killed so she obviously did care. And Christian was possessed by then in my version so that explains that. And Sam had no soul so we already know why he didn't bat an eye. As for Samuel …_ _well, I have no excuse for him. _

_Sending a review my way and letting me know what you think (of this story or just of the Campbells on the show in general) would be so very appreciated. Thanks for reading!_


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